


Eye of the Beholder

by hensday, thedevilchicken



Category: Assassin's Creed - All Media Types
Genre: Alternate Universe - Twins, Anal Sex, Come as Lube, Felching, M/M, Mutual Masturbation, Pining, Rimming, Scars, Soul Bond, Spit As Lube, Threesome - M/M/M, Twincest
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-11-12
Updated: 2020-11-12
Packaged: 2021-03-09 01:27:35
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 11,113
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27185870
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/hensday/pseuds/hensday, https://archiveofourown.org/users/thedevilchicken/pseuds/thedevilchicken
Summary: Before Taygetos, twins Alexios and Kassandros always had a bond.Now it's back, and they're sharing more than Alexios ever really wanted.
Relationships: Alexios/Brasidas (Assassin's Creed), Alexios/Brasidas/Deimos (Assassin's Creed), Alexios/Deimos (Assassin's Creed), Brasidas/Deimos (Assassin's Creed)
Comments: 3
Kudos: 36
Collections: Fic In A Box





	Eye of the Beholder

**Author's Note:**

  * For [linndechir](https://archiveofourown.org/users/linndechir/gifts).



Deimos and Brasidas hate each other. But that really doesn't seem to stop them fucking every single chance they get. 

Alexios would like to say he wishes them well. He'd like to say he doesn't resent it every time he walks into a room and the two of them jerk apart awkwardly - or else they don't, when they see it's him, because he made the foolish mistake of pointing out he knew exactly what was going on between them so they didn't need to act like it wasn't on his account. He really wishes he didn't know. He really wishes they'd pretend, not that that would change anything. 

Except actually, right at this moment, for once he's not so sure. Because something happened last night, and now he's not so sure of anything. 

\---

He'd say it started with the secret cave under Delphi and the moment he and Deimos touched the weird glowing pyramid, but that wasn't really the start. He knows that.

He's pretty sure it _really_ started long before that, back on the day they were both born, or maybe sometime before that. What he knows, though, is all those years ago when they were both children, before the Cult and the long drop from Taygetos, he and his brother were connected in a way that never quite made sense. People said it was because they were twins, and their mater always told them not to give too much away, but he thinks they always knew it wasn't _just_ because they were twins. It was like the power he felt when he picked up their grandfather's broken spear - the bond he had with Kassandros wasn't something most men had. And maybe they weren't gods, and maybe they weren't even demigods, and maybe someone out there in the world would have a perfectly logical explanation for the thing they shared, but he's sure if there's an explanation then he's not sure that he wants to know. 

When they were young, before Taygetos, the two of them were inseparable, and formidable, and maybe a bit of a menace. They could beat all of the other children at all the games they played because Kassandros and Alexios were like one player split in two. When they needed to, or wanted to, or sometimes without as much as even trying to, they could see through each other's eyes and feel what each other felt. When they fought, they were like one fighter. When they spoke, sometimes they said the same words at the exact same time, or one would start and the other would finish. They dressed alike, swapping clothes between the two of them like everything they had was _theirs_ , a pooled resource, because where one ended and the other began was sometimes hard to say. Sometimes, even their parents couldn't tell them apart. And when Alexios was hurt one day, gashed across his arm, he remembers how the two of them borrowed their grandfather's spear. They sat down together in their room, while his forearm was still bleeding. He didn't have to ask if Kassandros was sure; Kassandros clenched his jaw and held out his arm. Alexios cut him so that afterwards, they still matched. For some reason, no one thought to question it.

It started a long time ago, but then it stopped. That night on the mountain, when they both fell, or were pushed, or were dropped, the connection they'd had all their lives was severed and Alexios had believed his brother died. He'd believed he was alone, truly alone, for the first time in his life. He hadn't expected to leave Kephallonia years later and find his brother playing lackey to some malákas cult, but he supposes stranger things have happened since. He could definitely name a few. Last night, for instance.

As he sits there at the table this morning, in his childhood home that he's fought for for so long, he finds it hard not to think about some of the things he's done in order to get back here. Kassandros - _Deimos_ \- says he's done terrible things, but so has he - sometimes for his family and sometimes just for a little drachmae. And maybe their connection's nothing like it was when they were young, but they _are_ connected, or at least _re_ connected - the weird glowing pyramid saw to that. And since that day he's seen some of the things Deimos has done, so Deimos must have seen some of the things that he's done, too. They're connected. That's just how it works.

At first, it was just fighting. He'd be riding down a road or across a field or dodging trees on the way through a forest like Phobos would go anywhere he asked him to, and suddenly he'd be on the road or in the field or in the forest but also somewhere else aside from that. Sometimes it was a battlefield with the corpses of the men he'd killed strewn there at his feet. Sometimes it was a house, mostly grand houses, or the inside of a temple, and if the conversation didn't go a certain way then the sword he held thrumming in his hand would get some use. Sometimes it was a Spartan camp, or an Athenian one, and if he closed his eyes he could almost believe it was him there and not Deimos. He could almost believe that the anger he felt was his own and not his long-lost brother's. 

At first, it was fighting. He'd find himself in Deimos' head or he'd take his spear in his hand and feel that old familiar tickle in his brain that said his brother was there with him when he fought, too. He thinks sometimes he fought all the harder for it; there was a mercenary in Malis who almost had him, at least before the itch of Deimos' unimpressed presence made his grip tighten around both spear and sword. He tore the man almost to pieces and then went to wash the blood off in a nearby lake. When he looked down and saw his face reflected in the water, he could almost have believed that it was Deimos, not himself. When he took off his clothes and washed off the blood, he could almost have believed Deimos was watching him. 

At first, it was fighting. Then, it was something else. 

The first time it happened, he was with Alkibiades. There wasn't a goat watching them that time, thank the gods, or even any other people in the room besides the two of them, but the tingle in his brain made Alexios sharply and suddenly aware that they weren't entirely alone after all. Alkibiades cocked his head at him as he lounged there on the bed, curious as ever. Alexios was kneeling in between his thighs, doing all the work just like he always did, but he'd paused at that feeling. Before his rather indolent partner could make some kind of teasingly cutting remark about it, though, he went on - he figured that if Deimos was watching, he'd just be getting a free show. 

It happened again on Mykonos. He had Thaletas' fingers in his hair and Thaletas' cock in his mouth and he knew, as he knelt there in the dirt and sucked him, that he had a visitor inside his head. Sometimes when he fought, Deimos' presence spurred him on; that night, with a chill in the air and lit only by the moon, Deimos' presence spurred him on, too. He dragged Thaletas down and straddled his hips and maybe all they had to ease the way was spit but Alexios really didn't care. He rode Thaletas' cock until he gasped and groaned and came inside him, then he stroked himself roughly until he came all over Thaletas' armoured chest. And, as he leaned down to clear up the mess he'd made and lick his own come from Thaletas' moonlit Spartan breastplate, he felt Deimos' own orgasm, too. It was like a punch straight to the gut. It was like it happened to the both of them.

It happened again and again over the months that followed. Deimos was there in Boeotia when he fought Stentor. He was there in Olympia when he saved Alkibiades' life and then agreed to stay the night with him. Alexios was there in his brother's head as he fucked some nameless but enthusiastic man against a temple wall, over a temple altar, so hard that his hands left bruises at his hips. Before long, it was like they were trying to outdo each other, at least when they had a partner. He knows they didn't always and he remembers some of those times, too. 

He remembers one night by a campfire on the road to who knew where; he was teasing himself, just pushing the tip of his cock through a ring formed of his thumb and forefinger, slowly, again and again until his thighs trembled, like it might take his mind off the long ride and the edge off his rather sexless past few weeks. He was leaning back against a log, loincloth off but most of his armour still on just in case there was trouble, the leather straps of his skirt parted and the tunic pulled up high. And as he leaned there, stroking himself, breath loud, the fingers of his free hand tight in his own hair, he felt the familiar prickle of their connection. Somewhere in the world, Deimos lay back and hitched up his knees and pressed something hard and thick and cold against his hole that made Alexios' own tighten in response. He pushed it in, slowly, slick with oil, filled himself up with it until it felt like it was there inside Alexios, too. When Deimos squeezed around it, it was like they both did. When he started fucking himself with it, it was like he was fucking Alexios, too. He groaned out loud and kept on going with those slow, teasing strokes just at his tip and when he came, so did Deimos; he felt the kick of Deimos' cock and the desperate way his hole spasmed around the length of the olisbos. It was like they'd done it to each other.

He's not sure how long they were connected after that, as they sat there letting their pulses slow and their breath steady. They were, though, at least for a while, because he felt it when Deimos pulled the olisbos back out again and stroked his slick hole with his fingertips just for a moment. He wondered if Deimos felt it when Alexios' own hole twitched tight, like it was the one that was being touched. But then he shifted his weight and put his hand down on a sharp little stone and by the time he'd finished calling it every name under the sun, he knew the connection was gone. At least some small part of him regretted that. No matter what they'd done, or perhaps because of it, he'd felt like he'd had his brother back again.

There've been other times, too, like yet another roadside campfire, head down and arse up, fingering himself as his cock leaked so desperately that he really couldn't have cared less who saw. He'd been on his way through the woods to Amphipolis, where he knew he'd find Brasidas, and he knew it was Brasidas he was thinking of, at least for a start. He's sometimes wondered if the thing between Deimos and Brasidas is at least in part because of him, because his brother saw the way they fought together that day in Korinth through his eyes, or how they worked together in Arkadia, or maybe he'd felt the bitter fucking outrage that burst up within Alexios when he wounded him at Pylos or nearly killed him at Amphipolis. He doesn't know if Deimos was in his head or not when he killed Kleon but he knows he was there when he pressed his hand to Brasidas' bloody throat and cursed every god whose name he knew for letting his friend die. He's not sure which one it was that listened, but he's still half sure the only way Brasidas drew another breath was by the force of Olympian will. Sometimes he wonders if the connection between them comes from the gods, too. Sometimes he wonders if it's meant as a gift or as punishment.

There were other times, too, before they both came back to Sparta. There've been other times since they both came back. But since the first time he saw Deimos with Brasidas, he's felt sick at the thought of touching himself, let alone anyone else. 

He wants to love his brother. Maybe if he couldn't see the things he sees and feel the things he feels, that might be easier.

\---

He wants to love his brother but he doesn't make it easy.

After Pylos, he woke up in a cell somewhere in Athens with a headache the size of all of Attika combined. And for a second he thought his vision was blurred, but then he realised he was seeing himself through Deimos' eyes and Deimos through his own. He squeezed his eyes shut and he lay back on the shitty sackcloth bed, but that didn't really help much, if at all. 

"How are you doing this?" Deimos asked. 

Alexios cracked open one eye to peer at him as he stood there, frowning, clenching the bars by the cell's locked door, and then he closed that eye again. "I'm not doing anything," he replied, and he lifted one hand to gesture vaguely in the air in roughly the shape of a triangle. He could see himself through Deimos' eyes; miraculously, it did look roughly like a triangle. "Your shiny gold pyramid did it, not me."

"You're lying."

"No, I'm not."

"I don't believe you."

Alexios sighed. He turned his head. He opened his eyes. "Yes, you do," he said. "You're in my head, Kassandros. You'd know if I was lying."

He remembers sitting up, though the cell seemed to spin around him. He remembers standing up, though he wasn't sure how long he was going to remain upright in his current condition. So he went to the bars and he took hold of them, his hands just underneath his brother's. Deimos, surprisingly, didn't move his hands away, though he glanced at both sets for a second. They just stood there, looking at each other like the strangest kind of mirror. They wore their hair the same way. Their skin had the same shade of tan to it. And maybe their scars didn't quite match, but that one at their arm was still there. Alexios would have liked to have reached out and touched Deimos', just to make sure it was real, and that _he_ was real, but the fact was he already knew it was, and he was.

"How is this happening?" Deimos asked.

"I don't know," Alexios replied. "I don't know much more than you do. Maybe you know more than me."

Deimos scoffed. "You mean you don't know everything?"

"I know the Cult of Kosmos got inside your head." 

He frowned. Deimos frowned. One or both of them frowned. And Deimos said, " _You're_ the one inside my head. Just you." He clenched his jaw; Alexios saw the muscle work and almost felt it, too. "The things I see; are they real?"

"Yes."

"The things I feel?"

"Those, too."

"I want it to stop."

"So do I."

"No, you don't.

"Neither do you."

Deimos bared his teeth, and he glared, and the sound he made was so frustrated that for a second Alexios thought he was just going to turn and walk away and leave him there alone. It would have made sense, as much as anything about the situation made sense when they'd spent weeks and months and maybe even years by that point seeing through each other's eyes, feeling what each other felt. Alexios had hoped their connection could bring his brother back to him, but Deimos both did and didn't want that. And all Alexios could think to do was move one hand and wrap his fingers tight around his brother's wrist between the bars. Deimos' eyes went wide. He jerked away like Alexios was poison and he understood why because he'd felt it, too: that shivering moment like lightning in their skin just in the instant that they touched.

"What do you think you're doing?" Deimos asked. "It's not enough that you're inside my head?"

"You don't want to figure out how this works as much as I do?" Alexios replied. 

"I could just kill you. I'd like to see you try to read my mind if you're fucking dead."

"You're not going to kill me."

"Don't you think I could?"

Alexios shrugged. He held his hands up and stepped back, away from the bars, away from him, though everything about him screamed to reach out for him again. "I'm in a cage," he said. "I'm unarmed. I've been unconscious for I don't even know how long. Of course you could." He rubbed his mouth with the back of one hand and watched as Deimos mirrored him. "I just don't think you want to."

He wondered if maybe that was a step too far and Deimos glared at him, scowling so hard his teeth were bared, like maybe he was wrong and he actually did want to plunge a blade into Alexios' heart and have done with it, or maybe that would be his cue to leave. But instead he put a key in the lock of the cell door and he opened it. He let it swing open and he came inside, slowly, warily, still scowling. Until apparently he came to a decision and he swept forward, quickly, faster than Alexios could react to given he felt like he'd woken up after drinking a whole amphora of wine. He pushed Alexios up against the nearest wall, the one that wasn't made of metal bars, one gauntleted forearm firm across his throat and a handful of his tunic in his other hand. He pushed close. And where their skin touched, just the backs of Deimos' fingers against his neck, it tingled.

"This makes no sense," Deimos said. 

"It's how we were when we were children," Alexios said. "Don't tell me you don't remember. We were practically the same person."

"We're not the same." 

"Maybe not anymore." He raised one hand to his brother's face, cupped his cheek, rubbed his thumb over his scarred cheekbone. "What they've done to you, Kassandros..."

And Deimos pushed against him, harder, the leather and metal of his gauntlet pressing hard against his throat. It cut him off with a strangled sound he hadn't meant to make. 

"That's not my name," Deimos snarled. "We're not brothers." 

Then, as if to prove his point, he let go of Alexios' tunic and shoved that hand down between Alexios' thighs. Of course, when his fingers found their way under his tunic, when they tugged at the loincloth he was wearing underneath, Alexios wasn't sure what his point was meant to be. When Deimos wrapped his hand around his cock and his whole body seemed to jolt with it, it didn't just wipe out the fact that they were brothers. That fact was still there all along; it just didn't stop what happened next. 

"You've been taunting me," Deimos said, as he pulled back and started unfastening his armour. 

Alexios took a sharp breath in once Deimos' forearm left his throat. "That's not what I'd call it," he replied. 

Deimos' breastplate hit the ground. "What _would_ you call it?"

Alexios laughed as he leaned there against the wall, the sound a little frayed around the edges and not just because his throat was sore - Deimos hadn't been gentle. "I don't know," he replied, and he thought back over all those days and nights, his cock in his hand or feeling Deimos do the same, fucking himself, fucking someone else or being fucked and thinking about his brother because he was right there in his head. "I don't know," he said again, as Deimos dropped his gauntlets, and he watched him start to unbuckle his sword. 

"Don't tell me that was _brotherly love_ , Eagle-Bearer." 

Deimos pulled his tunic off over his head. Deimos pulled the cloth away that he was wearing underneath and bared himself, except for the sandals and greaves he left in place. Then he held his arms out wide, naked and so familiar except there were scars here and there that Alexios didn't recognise. He wanted to touch them. He wanted to take their grandfather's spear from wherever they'd hidden it and catalogue those scars, find the ones that didn't match and _make_ them match. His stomach lurched at the thought of cutting him, but not sickly. His insides twisted, hotly, like he felt in the moment before battle. 

He took a breath, slow and tight and unsteady. "I do love you, Kassandros," he said, but his cock was already stirring at the sight of him. And Deimos' face twisted, teeth bared, angry, but before he could hit him or leave him or anything else, Alexios untied his belt and threw it to the ground. Deimos watched as he stripped, too, down to his bare skin. Their tan lines were different, following the shape of their different armour, but those would fade. All that really differed were their scars and Deimos saw that, too, the two of them standing there bare and so similar, seeing through each other's eyes until he had himself superimposed over the image of Deimos and somehow he almost couldn't tell which scars were his own anymore. 

When Deimos came forward again, it wasn't to hit him, but it also wasn't gentle. When he kissed him, it was fucking savage; he bit at Alexios' bottom lip, sharply, drawing blood there at the inside edge and when he pulled back again, his lip was smudged with it. His blood. _Their_ blood. And Alexios pulled him in, by his wrist, by his hair, found his mouth and kissed him, hard and hot and bloody. His body was familiar, almost like touching himself but not himself, fingers raking down the length of his spine as Deimos pressed in tight against him. He felt Deimos' cock against his thigh, hardening like his own was, and his hands found Deimos' arse and pulled him closer still, till they were practically rutting there against each other, breathless and tingling and fucking alarmed. But then Deimos pulled back, his face flushed just like Alexios' was, eyes dark and teeth bloody. 

"Get down," Deimos said, and he pointed to the cell's sad excuse for a bed. 

Alexios almost said no, or said _why should I?_ or said maybe Deimos should go ahead and do that instead, but he didn't. He swallowed, tapped two fingers to his lip that came back bloody, then did exactly as he'd just been told. He didn't have to ask what Deimos meant; he knew what he meant. So he went down on his knees, and he leaned down on both his forearms, and he spread his knees out wide. He could see himself through Deimos' eyes and he reached back, seeing himself run his hand down over his lower back, over his arse, rub his fingers in between his cheeks. Then he eased himself down against one shoulder, head twisted to the side, leaning there so he could reach both hands back. He spread his cheeks wide. Through his brother's eyes, he could see himself expose his hole. 

"Is that what you want?" Alexios asked, and he really didn't need Deimos to answer to know that it was. He didn't need to see him coming closer to know he was, either. Deimos joined him there, knelt behind him, ran his hands over Alexios' then ran the fingers of one hand between his cheeks. Deimos wanted to fuck him and he wanted to let him and when Deimos closed his eyes and ducked his head, he really didn't need to see to know what he was planning to do, not that it was much like a plan at all. He ran his tongue between Alexios' cheeks, his breath hot against him, his tongue like fucking fire. He lapped at his hole, wetly, made Alexios' cock throb with it, teased his rim with the tip then sat back on his heels just far enough to spit. He could see that through Deimos' eyes, his saliva against him, making his hole shine as Deimos rubbed it around his rim with the pad of one thumb as Alexios' hole pulled tight. 

Then he spat again, onto his hand this time, and rubbed himself with it. He laughed breathlessly, erratically, and stroked himself just for a moment, the tip of his cock so close to Alexios' exposed hole that when it leaked a drop or two of precome, it dripped down against him. He chased it, pressed his tip against him, hot and blunt, and they were the same, Alexios though - if he'd held his own cock side by side with his brother's it would have been identical, long and thick and flushed an almost angry red, an almost _Spartan_ red, so he knew how tight the stretch would be when he started pressing into him. He didn't mind. He didn't care. He wanted it. He held his cheeks apart and let Deimos push his cock inside him. 

They'd been fucking in their heads for so long by then that it really shouldn't have felt any different, but it absolutely did. It wasn't some one night stand in a town whose name he wouldn't remember three days later. It wasn't his own fingers by a campfire or lying awake at night and feeling Deimos touch himself, or having someone touch him. Deimos' cock opened him up, stretched him just far enough to push inside, their breath harsh, their breath _the same_ , because almost everything about them was the same. Deimos pushed in, hissing a breath in through his bared teeth as he watched Alexios' hole take him, and Alexios saw him see it. He pushed in until his thighs met Alexios' and Alexios shifted his hands away. He leaned on his arms. He shifted slowly. Then he rocked back against him. 

It was over quickly. Alexios' head still ached and Deimos was still angry, and the two things together made their fuses short - shorter than they usually were, at least. Deimos gripped him by his hips, hard, harder than anyone else would have, and Alexios wrapped his hand around his own cock and stroked himself, hard and tight, as Deimos fucked him. He could feel him in him, how big he was, how jarring his thrusts were, skin slapping skin each time he pushed back in. He just stroked harder, his cheek pressed down against the dusty mattress, pumping his cock for all it was worth as Deimos bucked against him. It was Deimos who came first, too wound up to last, pulsing in him as he groaned and gripped him even harder. Gods, he sounded just like him - it was like hearing himself but not himself and he stroked faster, almost painful, till he came, too, hole clenching around Deimos' cock still deep inside him. 

They were sweaty when they pulled apart, breathless and faintly disgusting, and Alexios smiled wryly against the mattress as he reached back to spread his cheeks again. 

"Malákas," Deimos swore, as he looked at him, as he grimaced and reached out to run his fingers against Alexios' come-slicked hole. He huffed out a breath and then, fuck, he leaned back in and he licked him there, licked his own come away, shoved his tongue in past his aching rim and licked him clean again, his breath hot and hard against him. Alexios' spent cock twitched and leaked, feebly but his insides felt tight. And when Deimos finally pulled back, he pulled Alexios up by his hips and then his shoulders, his arms, grabbing at him roughly until he'd turned him around. Alexios was kneeling in the mess of his own come as Deimos kissed him and fuck, they tasted the same. It was perfect and ridiculous. 

"Kassandros..." Alexios said, with his fingers in his brother's hair, as they looked at each other, and Deimos smiled, tightly and unpleasantly. He stood. And before Alexios understood what his brother meant to do, he backhanded him hard across the face. He tasted blood again inside his mouth. 

"Don't call me that," Deimos said, and then he left, as if that was that. He locked the cell behind him and all Alexios could do was smile a bitter little smile as he put his clothes back on because in all of it, he hadn't even thought of escaping. All he'd thought about was Deimos. 

He did escape, though, soon enough. He had no idea where Deimos was when he did it, but soon enough he was seeing through his eyes again. Their connection hadn't changed. 

He wants to love his brother but he doesn't make it easy. And knowing what he's been doing with Brasidas makes it harder still. 

\---

He knows how it started with Brasidas, because he saw it all through Deimos' eyes. 

A year ago, Deimos came home to Sparta. The first night that Deimos was there, they shared the room they'd shared as kids, and Deimos left his bed to join Alexios in his, lying there in a tangle of limbs that was familiar and awkward and exactly what he'd wanted all at the same time. Honestly, that night, he'd believed that would be how it was between them from then on - they'd be together, slipping a hand around each other's cock with mouths pressed to each other's skin. He'd have liked that, he thought. He'd thought Deimos might, too. But, in the morning, Deimos was gone.

"Nikolaos took him to the barracks," their mater told him, when he went out to breakfast, bleary-eyed and confused. "He's been away so long, Alexios. The Cult was...hard on him. He needs to learn what it means to be Spartan."

Alexios didn't ask her why he hadn't been sent, too - after all, he'd been away from home for just as long. He just frowned into his food and when they saw each other next, though he wanted to touch, wanted to take his brother's wrists in his hands and ask him why he'd gone, he didn't. Deimos was subdued. And every time he joined them to eat, and every time they spoke, it was like he was trying hard to be someone he wasn't - maybe neither of them were Spartan, and only one of them was trying.

A year ago, Deimos came home to Sparta. A few months later, Alexios went north with the Adrestia to bring Brasidas home. Then, not very long after that, once Brasidas was well enough to spend some time out of bed and out of the house, he'd had Alexios take him to the training grounds. 

He remembers that they found Deimos there, fighting four men at the same time in his not very Spartan style, though he supposed his own wasn't much closer to it. He remembers Brasidas' hands curling into white-knuckled fists down by his sides though his face remained completely calm. When Alexios suggested they move on, Brasidas smiled and told him it was fine and they stayed to watch, but what Alexios was watching much more than his twin was the way Brasidas watched him. He'd thought he'd understood it at the time - Deimos had very nearly killed him, after all, and he had the still livid, painful-looking scar at his throat to prove it: an awkward, off-axis line across his skin that cut into the lowest edge of his beard, technically healed but still an angry purple-red. It was only natural that it felt strange for Brasidas to see him there, sparring with Spartans instead of killing them, when the last place he'd seen him was a Makedonian battlefield with his own spear in his hand. Alexios didn't think Brasidas blamed him for the fact he hadn't killed his brother, but he did wonder if he would have preferred it that way. At least he wouldn't have had to see him there.

For weeks, while Brasidas recovered, they went back every morning. For weeks, they found Deimos fighting there. It wasn't the sort of activity Alexios would have chosen for the two of them but he supposed it was better that he didn't choose - after all, every moment he'd spent with Brasidas over the years, and every moment he spent with him then, made him even more certain of the awkward fact of his feelings him. Their mutual affection had been hinted at, sometimes strongly, like that night at the time in Arkadia, sleeping underneath Brasidas' cloak though the air had been warm enough that neither of them needed either the cloak or each other's proximity. There'd been days spent talking together, fighting, sparring, spear clashing with sword until they were pressed together, smiling, breathless, mouths a hair's breadth from a kiss Alexios was sure that they both wanted. There were times he almost came out and said something about it in those weeks, on the slow walk up to the training grounds or sitting at Brasidas' kitchen table. He's not sure now if he wishes he had or not, knowing what he knows.

Brasidas and Deimos didn't talk while they were there. He never saw them interact at all, at least not beyond their gazes meeting now and then as Deimos fought, or after it. There was an odd look on his brother's face that he supposes he understands now, but at the time he thought maybe he felt awkward seeing the man he'd tried to kill more than once each morning when he went to train. He was wrong about that. 

He knows how it started. He was sitting on the flat roof of their strange little family's home like he'd used to do all the time back on Kephallonia, watching the sun set as he sharpened his sword. It seemed like every other fight he took the edge off it and though he supposed with strength like his it wouldn't make too much of a difference if his sword was sharp or not, he did still take an almost Spartan pride in looking after his weapons. He'd given Nikolaos' sword to Stentor, who'd stared at him, then frowned at him, then narrowed his eyes suspiciously at him, but he'd eventually taken the thing and muttered something that might have been _thank you_ as he'd walked away. Brasidas had given him a new sword to thank him for saving his life at Amphipolis. He looked after it. 

He was sharpening his sword when suddenly it felt like half his brain was somewhere else, called away, and he stopped sharpening as he closed his eyes and wondered what his brother was up to - fighting or fucking. He saw Deimos marching up to a familiar door, Brasidas' door, and for one terrible moment he thought maybe he was going there to finish what he'd started back in Makedonia. That wasn't it, though. When he pushed open the door, no knocking, he didn't have a weapon in either of his hands, and Alexios could tell he wasn't even carrying one and maybe he didn't need a weapon to be able to kill because maybe he _was_ the weapon, but before he'd taken two steps inside, the point of Brasidas' spear was at his throat. Alexios could feel the metal bite in and the blood well up when Deimos's throat moved as he swallowed underneath it, and he knew that was right where Brasidas' scar was. The one he didn't try to hide though sometimes Alexios wished he would, because every time he saw it there was a pang of guilt inside his chest for the fact he hadn't stopped that spear. All he'd done was call the gods a few offensive names while Brasidas bled over his hands; if he tried, or sometimes when he didn't try, or sometimes when he wished he couldn't, he could still feel that. 

"What are you doing here?" Brasidas asked. 

"You're following me," Deimos replied, as if somehow that was an answer to the question and not a bit incongruous. 

"Yes, I am," Brasidas said, straightforwardly. 

Deimos frowned, and Alexios frowned, though Alexios suspected it was for a very different reason. It seemed like Deimos had been expecting a denial and what he'd got instead was a blunt confirmation, and Alexios could really only feel like he was missing some very important information about what was happening there with the two of them. He knew that Brasidas watched him train but it seemed a lot like there was more to it - something that had gotten Deimos so riled up that he'd stormed into Brasidas' home to confront him over it. 

" _Why_?" Deimos asked. Alexios could feel his confusion, which had a different kind of colour to it than his own. He was pretty sure they could both think of plenty of reasons why Brasidas wouldn't warm to him like some others had in Sparta, but Alexios had no idea what they were talking about. 

He saw Brasidas frown but then his expression changed and he laughed, not the carefree way he did with Alexios but tight and a little bitter. The motion of it shifted the spear's point against Deimos' throat and Alexios could feel the hot trickle of blood. It ran down his neck and underneath his tunic. 

"Because I need to be sure," Brasidas said. 

"Sure of _what_?"

"That they can trust you. That you won't just fucking kill them."

"What makes you think they can't? What makes you think I would?"

Brasidas laughed again, harsh and sharp, and he tilted back his head to show off the ugly scar across his throat. "I don't know, Deimos," he said. "What do you think?"

He could feel the anger stirring up in Deimos' chest. He could feel the guilt and shame that coiled in his gut and heated his face. Deimos was still staring at that scar, like it was the earthly fucking manifestation of everything that he'd ever done wrong, when he moved so quickly that Brasidas couldn't stop him whipping his spear from his hand. He was still staring at the scar as he pointed that spear and Brasidas spread his arms out wide and stepped a little closer. He stepped up against the spear's sharp point, letting it nick the fabric over his sternum. 

"Are you going to kill me?" he asked. His mouth twisted, nothing like his usual easy smile. "If you are, you'd best do it now. I promise you won't have another chance."

Alexios thought maybe he would do it. He didn't understand what Deimos felt - the emotions of it were too mixed up for him to tease apart and he'd never been good with his own feelings anyway. All he could think was maybe his fucking Cult-brainwashed psychopath of a brother was about to kill the man he loved and _again_ he'd done nothing to stop it. He readied himself to jump down into the street and run, hard, straight to Brasidas' house, though he knew he'd be too late. All he'd be able to do was put his spear through his brother's chest and end him, just like he was about to do to Brasidas. He didn't think any number of curses or prayers would help raise him from the dead this time. 

But Deimos didn't even try to kill him. Alexios could feel the scowl on his face and the tension in his shoulders and the tightness in his chest and it felt like he would do it...but then he dropped the spear and it fell to the ground with a clatter that made him flinch like he hadn't quite realised he'd meant to do it. Brasidas looked surprised, too, and wary, and he didn't step away to put distance between them, maybe the width of the kitchen table, though that would have been the sensible thing to do. He stood there, a spear's length from a man who'd tried to kill him more than once, and Alexios wished he could yell at him to get away, get _far_ away, but then Deimos strode forward and clamped one hand over Brasidas' scarred throat. 

He didn't choke him. The hand at his throat was firm but Alexios could tell he wasn't even really squeezing and the look on Brasidas' face wasn't panic, or fear, or even anything close to concern. His face was flushed and Deimos' insides fluttered almost nervously, definitely excitedly, and he dragged his fingertips down over Brasidas' scar. Brasidas let him. Brasidas _let him_. And the next thing Alexios knew, their mouths were colliding in a desperate fucking kiss, teeth clacking, Deimos' hand back up at Brasidas' throat and Brasidas' hands twisting tight in Deimos' hair. It hurt, and Alexios could feel it - the way Brasidas pulled almost hard enough to yank his hair out by the roots and then bit down at Deimos' lip and when they pulled apart and took a heaving breath, Deimos rubbed his hand over his own bloodied throat then smeared that blood roughly over Brasidas' scar. He kissed him there next, tasting his own blood over Brasidas' skin, licking at the scar's rough edges, sucking at it, nipping at it with his teeth until Brasidas groaned, low and breathless, and _so_ intensely fucking aroused that Alexios felt himself start to stiffen right there on the roof. 

When Brasidas pushed Deimos back, it wasn't to push him _away_ \- it was just so he had the space to untuck the cloth that he was wearing underneath his tunic and toss it down onto the floor. Alexios could see that he was hard underneath it, his cock catching against his tunic and leaking at the tip, and Deimos took an unsteady, hissing breath through his bare, clenched teeth as he looked at him. He pushed Brasidas back against the nearest wall, pushed him so damn hard that Brasidas' head bounced off it and he cursed at him, darkly, but Deimos didn't really seem to care. He just went down on his knees, quickly, pushed Brasidas' tunic up until it caught at his belt and then wrapped his lips around his cock. Brasidas moaned again, and grabbed Deimos' hair again, and as Deimos sucked him Alexios could taste him and smell him and _feel_ him, as well as the raw fucking throbbing of Deimos' cock. 

When Deimos pulled back, it wasn't because he was done. He untied his belt, or at least he tried to; in the end he reached for Brasidas discarded spear and cut it open, threw it aside and pulled his tunic off over his head. He knelt there, naked except for his sandals, and took Brasidas back into his mouth again. 

That was where the connection cut off, with Brasidas' cock so deep in Deimos' mouth he almost gagged on it and Deimos stroking himself so hard that it almost hurt too much to feel good - _almost_. And all Alexios could do was sit there, stunned, with an ache in his cock and his half-sharpened sword in his hand. 

His obnoxious twin was fucking the man he was in love with. And he'd lost his chance with both of them, if he'd ever had one at all. 

\---

The following morning, Deimos tried to speak to him. Alexios brushed him off; he really had nothing to say. And, that morning, when Deimos frowned at him then left for the training grounds, Alexios didn't leave for Brasidas' house. He wasn't sure what he had to say to him, either, though he supposed that was his own fault. He'd just always hoped that one day, once the war was done and the Cult was finished, they might have something together that hadn't been a possibility while those threats still existed. Now he knew that wasn't possible at all, and it was fucking gutting. He hadn't expected it at all.

He left Sparta a few days later, after he saw them together for the second time. Brasidas had fucked his brother bent over his kitchen table while Alexios was lying there appalled in bed and he just hadn't known what else to do but make his excuses and then leave. He had places he could go to and people that he missed, and he'd ignored their invitations for far too long - at least that was what he said when asked. And their mater and pater said they understood, and Brasidas frowned and squeezed his shoulder warmly, like a _friend_ would, and told him come back soon. They understood, but Deimos didn't seem to. 

"When are you coming back?" he asked, bluntly, the way that no one else had, and Alexios just shrugged as he was tying down a saddlebag. 

"When I'm done," he replied. "When I'm ready."

"What does that mean?" 

"It means _when I'm done_ , and _when I'm ready_."

"Does it mean _never_?"

Alexios turned his head and eyed him, frowning. Deimos looked agitated and surly, which wasn't far from his basic personality as far as Alexios could tell, but with something else beneath it that he couldn't put his finger on. And honestly, he looked more like his usual self than he'd seen him in months, except for those flashes of fucking Brasidas.

"You brought me here to play at being Spartan," Deimos said, angrily, his fists clenched at his sides so tight it looked like he might break his fingers. "And I've tried. I've _tried_ , and now you're leaving. I don't fucking understand you." 

Alexios shrugged again, widely, obnoxiously, like the decision was made and out of his hands and not entirely within them, it being his own decision to make. "You'll find some way to drown your sorrows, Deimos," he told him, pointedly, then he turned and mounted his horse. 

"I don't--" Deimos said, but Alexios was already cracking the reins and spurring Phobos on his way. He didn't stop to look back. He took a longer route to the city gates just so he could avoid Brasidas' house and the possibility that he'd lose his nerve, stop and tell him everything. And he left Sparta, and he left Lakonia, and he told himself if he could get away then he wouldn't have to see the two of them together like that, not again. Perhaps he didn't mean never to return - he hadn't fought so hard to regain the right to call himself Spartan just to leave and stay away forever - but he genuinely thought some time away might do him good. He might, at least, find distance dulled the ache he felt behind his sternum every time he thought about the things he'd seen them do. He missed what he'd had with his brother, such as it had been. He'd missed his chance with Brasidas completely, if he'd ever had one to begin with.

It didn't work. Distance was meant to weaken their connection, or at least he'd hoped it would, but every few days he saw them fucking, and arguing, tearing at each other, and then he saw them start to fight as well. He saw Brasidas take his spear and shield out to the training grounds and they sparred together, lightly at first but then with increasing vigour. And Alexios sat there, on a flat stone at the top of a waterfall as Ikaros circled high overhead, and he tried not to feel quite so much like he'd been brutally betrayed. He saw the way they fought against each other as Brasidas' strength returned. A few days later, he saw the way they fought _with_ each other, like Brasidas had used to with him. So he picked up another contract from the local notice board and went out to put his ire into his work. For a while, it even helped, or at least he managed to convince himself it did.

He was away for months, plural, but not too many of them in the end. He sailed, and he rode, and he spent more than a little time cleaning blood from his grandfather's spear, and his clothes, and his skin, but he couldn't find a place that was far enough from Sparta to escape the way his brother's mind and his were still connected. He made his way back, telling himself he'd been foolish to leave except he told himself he'd at least found perspective while he was away, or something like it; he couldn't avoid the connection, and without death he wasn't sure he could sever it, so he supposed all that left was acceptance. He loved them both. He could smile and tell them he was pleased for them. 

Their mater and pater were pleased when he arrived and he thinks maybe so was Deimos, in his own strange way. He thinks he'd missed his brother, too, though he'd left in order to avoid him. He thinks he'd missed Brasidas, but that was something entirely more complicated. 

Now months have passed again, and it's a year or maybe slightly more since Deimos and Brasidas first came back to Sparta. Months have passed and sometimes he'll walk out into the kitchen and find Brasidas there with Deimos, close together, touching though they don't really seem to talk, or even seem to like each other, but that doesn't seem to stop them fucking. And he smiles, and he tries to pretend it doesn't bother him to see them there together. Sometimes, since he's been back, he's wondered if Deimos feels just how much of a lie that is and just does him the courtesy of not bringing it up in general conversation. 

He's been thinking about going away again. Maybe not for long, but he'd been thinking it might do him good to only see the two of them through Deimos' eyes and not his own, just for a while. He'd thought he might try to find himself a lover, nothing serious, not exactly meant to last forever, but now he's not so sure. Because last night, while he lay awake in bed, while he wished he could keep himself from riding around inside his brother's head, he looked into Brasidas' eyes while the two of them were fucking and heard him say, _Alexios_. Somehow, Deimos didn't seem surprised by that. Alexios was, though he's still not sure what it means. If anything.

And now, he feels Deimos openly, deliberately, tugging at their bond, like he'd done himself so many times over the years. He'd done it just to see if he might answer, though he never did, though he felt like it should be possible again just like when they were kids. He feels it and he's curious, he has to admit, and after the first few minutes it's so incredibly distracting from the knife he's been trying to sharpen that he really couldn't ignore it even if he wanted to. 

He closes his eyes. He sighs. The image becomes clearer.

"You know where I am," Deimos says, like he's talking to himself, but Alexios knows he's not. He's standing outside Brasidas' door, and he's talking to _him_ ; Alexios understands that. 

"Yes," he replies. "I know where you are."

"And you can feel this?" Deimos says, then he pinches sharply at his arm, by the scar they've shared since their childhood. He feels it, stinging and immediate. 

"Yes," he replies. "I can feel that."

"Good."

Then Deimos goes into the house. He doesn't knock. He closes the door. Brasidas is inside, sitting at the table. 

"He's here," Deimos says, irascible as ever. "Send your message before he goes running off to Pephka or whatever."

When Brasidas stands and goes to him, Alexios is watching. When Brasidas' hand comes up to Deimos' face, when his thumb traces his bottom lip, he feels it. When he kisses him, firmly but not roughly, it's nothing like he's felt him do to Deimos before now. When he presses him up to the back of the door, he's there. And when Brasidas says, "Alexios, I think it's time we had a conversation," he understands. At least he thinks he does. Half of what they do together is for Deimos, but half of it's for him. All this time, he's missed it.

Brasidas' house isn't far away. It doesn't take long for him to get there, but it seems like years with the things the two of them are doing to each other right there inside his head - he sees Brasidas' hands on Deimos' skin as he strips him, sees Deimos wrap his hand around Brasidas' cock and stroke. And when he opens the door, Brasidas smiles at him so brightly it's like he's brought the sun in with him. 

"It's about time," Brasidas says, amusement as clear in his eyes as his arousal is. And as Alexios goes to join them, he really couldn't agree more.

It's his brother that he kisses first, not gently but that's not exactly them, hooking a hand to the back of his head and pulling him in against him. He kisses him messily, hungrily, like it's something familiar but utterly essential, and Deimos, naked, rubs his cock against his tunic shamelessly as he pulls him in by the curve of his arse. Brasidas chuckles behind them and the low, pleased sound of it makes Alexios' chest feel just a fraction tighter, and a little warmer. When he feels Brasidas' hands at his waist, untying his belt, it's not just _warmth_ that he feels, it's a sharp spike of arousal. 

Brasidas undresses him as he kisses his brother, hard but slow. Brasidas removes Alexios' belt and then unpins the tunic from his shoulders so he doesn't have to break that kiss, then he unfastens the cloth from his waist and pulls that away to bare him. He doesn't bother with his sandals but Alexios feels his fingers skim the back of his thighs, his hips, his ribs, making him shiver. And then Brasidas steps up against his back, and he feels his erection brush his cleft, and Brasidas' hand dips forward past his hip and down between his thighs. He feels him stroke him, slowly, and it doesn't take much to get him hard because Brasidas' hand on him is something that he's wanted now for more years than he's sure that he can count. But then he steps away again and Deimos pushes Alexios back, abrupt but not to make him leave. It's just so he has the room to turn and lean down over the table. 

It's the same place Alexios has seen them fucking in his head for months, and he hadn't realised that would just make it all the hotter. Deimos leans down low and moves his feet apart and when he slouches down against the table and reaches back to spread his cheeks with his own hands, Alexios can't help but laugh. It's the same thing he did himself that day back up in Athens and how it looks when he exposes himself like that, fuck, Alexios' cock is as hard as it has ever been in moments as he wonders what exactly he should do next. 

In the end, he goes down onto his knees behind him. He runs his hands up over the back of Deimos' thighs, over small scars that don't match his own though he almost resents that fact. He trails his fingertips between Deimos' spread cheeks and presses there for a moment with his forefinger, feeling how hot he is there, feeling how tight. Then he glances back at Brasidas - he's watching avidly, seated now, cock in hand - before he turns back to his brother and runs his tongue over his hole. He lets the tip of it tease around his rim and then he licks him, wetly, with the flat of his tongue, one long swipe and then another, another, and he brings his hands up, gets his thumbs to the edges of Deimos' rim and eases it open just a fraction, watching as it tries to pull back in tight before finally loosening a little. He pushes his tongue against him, feeling his own cock throb between his thighs as Deimos' hole relaxes, as he pushes the tip into him. And he reaches forward between Deimos' thighs, fingers skimming his perineum, squeezing his balls, to find his cock. He's hard, and it kicks in his hand like his grip is a surprise, and Deimos slumps down harder against the tabletop as his knees seem to turn a little weak. But that isn't how Alexios wants this to end. 

He stands. He rocks back onto his heels and pushes up and he steps in, and there's oil on the table but he really doesn't think they'd need it, or that he really wants it. Deimos is still holding his cheeks apart and Alexios leans in to spit against his hole, fucking obscenely, rubbing it against him with his thumb. He's going to be tight like this, and maybe it will almost hurt, but he's pretty sure that they both heal just as quickly as each other and besides which, Deimos clearly wants it. So, he does it. He nudges the tip of his cock to Deimos' hole. He presses there, rubbing himself against him, around his rim, spreading his own precome there against him. Then he pushes, takesa breath and does it again, slowly, as Deimos makes an almost fucking needy sound beneath him and gives just enough to let the head of his cock push in. The rest of him soon follows and Deimos arches his back and shifts against him as he takes him in deep. 

" _Gods_ ," Brasidas says, his voice low and strained, and Alexios laughs out loud as he turns his head to look at him. He still has his cock in his hand but all he's doing is holding it, firmly, by the base, as if willing himself to wait. 

"Demigods at most," Alexios replies, and Deimos snorts and pushs back against him, hard enough to take his cock in right to the hilt and take his breath away as well. He turns back to him, gives his arse a slap and makes him swear under his breath. And then, he fucks him. 

He could last longer, he supposes, but he can't see a reason in the world to draw it out when he's wanted this for so very long and anyway, he's confident that this won't be the last time. He fucks him, hard enough that the table legs squeak against the floor with the way they move, gripping at his hips so he can pull out almost right to the tip then thrust back in. He gives up on that quickly, though, and fucks him in short bursts, sharp thrusts, making Deimos' breath short and his own skin feel hot and he can almost feel it, not just from his own perspective but from Deimos'. He can almost feel the cock inside his arse, his own cock, the friction of it fucking maddening, making Deimos' stomach tight and his cock hang hard and throbbing. His own breath is short and he bites his lip as he pushes in, deep, his heart hammering inside his chest. He reaches forward, wraps one hand around Deimos' cock and feels him come abruptly on the second stroke, his hole clenching tight around him. And he comes like that, too, while Deimos is still in the throes of it, pushed in as deep as he can go. He feels his cock pulse with it as he empties himself inside him. And then he closes his eyes and tilts back his head, and takes a breath. 

"Don't tell me you think that's it," Brasidas says, after just a moment, and Alexios hears him coming closer. 

He opens one eye and turns his head to look at him, spent but still hard inside his brother's hole. "Did you have something else in mind?" he asks, maybe somewhat breathlessly, and Brasidas laughs. 

"Why don't you join your brother against the table and find out?" he says. So Alexios does exactly that. 

He pulls out of Deimos with a groan, watching his own come well up there at his rim, then shuffles sideways and leans down next to him. Deimos turns his head and looks at him from not very far away, his face all flushed and his eyes dark, with a hint of a smile there at his mouth. But then Brasidas comes closer still and Alexios pushes up just far enough to watch him rub his cock between Deimos' cheeks. He watches him press his tip against his hole then push inside him, one long thrust that takes him in balls-deep because he's already slick with Alexios' come and loosened by his cock. Deimos bites his lip and Alexios feels his softening cock give a twitch of renewed interest as Brasidas pulls back out, his cock slick with Alexios' come. Then he runs his fingers there, pushes them in between Deimos' cheeks, gets them wet, then moves over to Alexios. When Alexios reaches back and spreads his cheeks, when Brasidas rubs between them, when he presses there at his hole, Alexios takes his fingers eagerly. They're slick with his own come. 

Brasidas has him like that, over the table, slow and deep. His thrusts make him rock up onto his toes but the weight of his brother leaning there next to him at least keeps the table where it is and not travelling halfway across the room. Deimos looks at him as Brasidas is fucking him; Deimos reaches back and runs his fingers over the place where Brasidas is pushing into him; Deimos smiles as Alexios' rim pulls taut and makes Brasidas groan. He's already come, but his cock at least tries to stiffen up again and when Deimos reaches down to stroke him, the tingle of their odd connection mixed with the fact he's already spent is almost enough to make it painful. He laughs breathlessly as Deimos eases his foreskin back and thumbs his slit. Deimos just smiles, all teeth, like a fucking wolf. 

Brasidas' fingers rake his back as he fucks him, but Alexios doesn't mind that. Brasidas' hands go down to grip his hips and he likes that, too. He can hear Brasidas' breath, loud and hitching. He can feel the way his thrusts begin to shorten, sharpen, lose their rhythm. And, as Deimos gives his cock a squeeze, as he makes him give up just a little more come in a weak little spurt that's right on the very edge of painful, Brasidas comes, too. He comes inside him, filling him up, but he also doesn't mind that. They're definitely all going to need to take a wash when they're done, after all, and he has ideas how that might go - maybe Brasidas will try to clean him, his fingers pushed up deep into his hole, or maybe Deimos will. Maybe he'll do it to himself while they both watch. The specifics don't really matter. 

Then Brasidas pulls back. Brasidas pulls out. And he takes a breath, and Alexios does, then he slowly nudges him into standing, sore as he is from what they've all just done. He steps in close and cups Alexios' jaw in both his hands. He smiles. Then, he kisses him, as Alexios' arms wrap around his waist. 

"You know, before you left Sparta, your mother came to see me," Brasidas says, once he's pulled back, once he's pressed one palm over Alexios' mouth to keep him from chasing him straight into another kiss. "The first time, I mean. Before Taygetos."

Alexios frowns. "She did?" he says. 

Brasidas nods. "She did," he confirms. "She said she was looking for an erastes. She'd heard I was considering a boy from the agoge, though how she knew that I don't know." 

Deimos snorts. "Mater has her ways," he says, wryly, and he comes closer, leaning up against Alexios' back. Brasidas reaches past Alexios, his eyes on Deimos for a moment as he takes a handful of hair and gives it a tug that's hard enough to make Deimos grumble deep down in his chest. Then he returns his gaze to Alexios.

"She thought I might be... _unconventional_ enough to agree to her proposal," he says.

"What did she propose?" he asks, then he frowns because he supposes that he knows what the proposal was, at least in part, if Myrrine was finding an erastes. It's a tantalising thing, thinking about what might have been, and how long he might have known Brasidas, and how long they might have had something like this, if not for the Cult of Kosmos. 

"Which one of us did she want you for?" he asks. 

Brasidas' mouth twists wryly. "Both," he says. "She wanted me for both of you." And Alexios can't help but laugh because somehow, in the end, Myrrine's got her way. If nothing else, Brasidas can teach them a thing or two about what it is to be a Spartan man. He suspects they can teach him something about not being _too_ Spartan in turn. 

It's the morning and usually the three of them would make their way to the training grounds; as it is, they make their way to Brasidas' bed instead, and stretch out in a pleasant tangle. Behind him, Deimos mouths at a scar on his shoulderblade like he's thinking about making himself one to match. In front, Brasidas smiles and kisses him again, _again_ , as Alexios' fingertips brush the thick scar there at his throat. Deimos is the one who put it there, and it's not likely that any of them will forget that, but maybe in that way the three of them are linked just as surely as he and Deimos are.

"You've been thinking about leaving again," Brasidas says, and when Alexios opens his mouth to object, Brasidas raises his eyebrows knowingly. 

Alexios gives him a sheepish smile instead and says, "Maybe."

"Maybe don't," Brasidas says, and rests his forehead against his. "Maybe stay awhile." 

And as Brasidas' mouth finds his again, as Deimos' arm snakes around his waist, he thinks maybe he will.


End file.
